


Battle Scars

by Eggling



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 18:44:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13665021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggling/pseuds/Eggling
Summary: The Doctor accidentally pushes Jamie into facing some of his ghosts.





	Battle Scars

Jamie pushed open the bedroom door, blinking in the bright light. “Can’t ye make it go dark? It’s usually dark in here when we get back.”

“The lights will dim soon enough.” Rummaging around in the wardrobe, the Doctor produced a pair of pyjama shirts and threw one to Jamie. “Here, this’ll do.”

“Can’t the TARDIS just… tell that it’s night outside? Or that we’re tired?” Jamie turned the shirt over in his hands. “Do ye even know whose this is?” He held the shirt up against his chest. “It’s _huge_. Must be one of yours.”

“I have the lighting controls switched to a custom day-night cycle,” the Doctor continued. “Humans find it more tolerable, in my experience. Good for the circadian rhythms, you know.”

“Oh, aye, that.” Jamie tossed the pyjama shirt onto the bed, freeing his hands to fumble with his buttons. “Och, I’m going tae fall asleep before I’m even dressed.”

“Here let me.” The Doctor reached up to push Jamie’s hands away from his collar gently, and slowly began to unbutton his shirt. Unable to resist the temptation of sleep, Jamie rested his head against the Doctor’s shoulder, letting him work. “Something of a long day, wasn’t it?”

“Mm.” Jamie pressed his face into the Doctor’s neck, still trying to avoid the light. “Ye don’t seem that tired.”

“I don’t need as much sleep.” The Doctor slipped Jamie’s shirt off his shoulders, and Jamie reached for his buttons in return.

“Want me tae return the favour?”

“Yes, in a moment, if you'd like.” The Doctor took hold of Jamie’s undershirt. “Here, you’ll have to stand up straight.”

“Aye, alright.” Jamie raised his head, wincing when he realised that the room had not yet darkened. He had been so caught up in tiredness and the familiarity of the Doctor unbuttoning his shirt that he had forgotten about the lights – and the secrecy he had been carefully cultivating for weeks. “No!” He sprung away from the Doctor as if burnt, pushing his shirt back down. The Doctor snatched his hands back, eyes wide with alarm. “No,” Jamie repeated, his voice quavering. “No, I’ll – I can do it myself.” Snatching up the pyjama shirt the Doctor had given him, he rushed into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him.

“Jamie!” the Doctor called after him. “Jamie, what’ve I done?” He knocked on the door, and Jamie threw his weight back against it, scrambling for the lock. “Jamie?”

The sadness in his voice filled Jamie with regret. “Sorry, Doctor,” he said. “It’s… it’s no’ your fault. But I dinnae want to talk about it.”

As he had expected, the Doctor pressed on. “What happened?”

Jamie pulled his undershirt off with more force than was strictly necessary, flinging it onto the floor. Frustration surged through him. _Why can’t the Doctor leave well enough alone?_ he thought bitterly. _Why does he always have to know everything?_ He reached for the pyjama shirt, but paused, clenching his fist.

“The lights are on,” he called, hoping the Doctor would let him leave it at that.

“And that means I can’t take your shirt off?” The Doctor sounded puzzled. “It’s hardly as if I’ve never seen you without your shirt before.”

“No’ with the lights on,” Jamie snapped back. He sighed, pressing his forehead against the door, trying to calm himself. “I dinnae want ye to see, that’s all.”

“See what?” The Doctor was silent for a moment, then gave a little ‘oh’ of realisation. “You mean your scars.”

Jamie jerked his head back in surprise. “I didnae think you’d seen them.”

“I haven’t.” The Doctor’s voice was quiet, soothing, as if he was talking to a flighty animal. “But I’ve felt them. And I’d be a fool to think you didn’t have any, after everything.” He paused. “How many are from before – well, before -”

“Before ye picked me up?” Jamie let out a hollow laugh. “Most of them. You’ve no’ really had tae patch me up there yet, have ye?”

“No, I suppose not.” He heard the Doctor pacing back and forth outside. “Jamie, I, ah, could be wrong, but it didn’t feel like there were many of them, or that they’re particularly bad.”

“They’re not. Doesn’t mean I like them.”

“No, no, of course not.” The handle twitched, as if the Doctor had meant to test the lock but then thought better of it. “But I don’t think you’re the person to be ashamed of how it looks. And I should hope you know me well enough to believe that I wouldn’t think any differently of you. Why don’t you want me to see them?”

“Because I knew you’d do this,” Jamie bit out. “You’d want tae talk about them, ‘cause ye always have tae know everything. And I dinnae like thinking about them, or – how I got them.”

“Oh.” He heard the Doctor retreat away from the door, and felt a rush of terrible, angry satisfaction. Just for a moment, he had made the Doctor regret his insatiable curiosity. “I am sorry, Jamie, I should have listened to you. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Ye don’t know how it feels, do ye? To watch people next to ye be ripped apart by grapeshot, and have it hit you too – an’ every time ye look in the mirror, ye see that hole in your side, and think about it. Or tae look at yourself and se a mark from the blade of someone ye almost killed, but couldn’t, ‘cause you’re a coward. Not tae know if ye hate yourself more because ye almost did it, or because ye didn’t do it.”

“Jamie, I -”

“An’ even the ones that aren’t from the war _hurt_ , I look at them and I think about people who died, an’ I dinnae want to look at them anymore.” Jamie slumped against the door, breathing heavily, suddenly exhausted again.

“No, you’re right, I don’t know.” The Doctor was quiet for a long moment, and Jamie followed his lead, leaning heavily on the door and letting his anger drain away. “Would you like me to leave you alone for tonight?”

Jamie unlocked the door hurriedly, pushing it open just enough to see the Doctor. “No, don’t go – please? I dinnae want tae be alone.”

The Doctor stepped back towards him. “I am sorry, you know.”

“Aye, me too. I shouldn’t have yelled at ye.”

Tentatively, the Doctor reached out towards him. “Can I -?”

Jamie did not reply, instead rushing to hug the Doctor. “Just promise ye won’t push me about it again.”

“Promise.” The Doctor hesitated, then wrapped his arms around Jamie. He ran his hands up and down Jamie’s back, blindly feeling out his scars, tracing the lines of the ones he found. For a moment, Jamie considered pulling away, but found he could not bring himself to. The Doctor touched him as though every horror he had ever faced was not written on his skin, and it was a reassurance he had not known he needed. “You know, I don’t suppose it matters, but I don’t think you’re a coward.”

Jamie thought about it, for a moment. “Thanks,” he said at last, unsure of what else to say. The Doctor paused in his stroking. “Don’t stop? It’s nice.”

“Is it helping?”

“Aye.” To Jamie’s surprise, he found that he meant it. “I dinnae want to think about the scars anymore.” At last, the lights dimmed, and he muffled a yawn in the Doctor’s shoulder. “I want tae sleep.”

The Doctor chuckled. “I’ll get your shirt.” He made as if to extricate himself from Jamie’s arms, but Jamie hugged him tighter, holding him in place.

“Don’t bother,” he said quietly. “I’m alright like this.”


End file.
